


Fireworks

by essequamvideri24



Category: The Shadow of the Tower, The White Princess (TV), The White Queen (TV), Winter King: Henry VII and the Dawn of Tudor England - Thomas Penn
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7394551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essequamvideri24/pseuds/essequamvideri24





	Fireworks

The room did not look like it had back when she was growing up. Gone were the suits of armor stood at the ready. Gone were the scattered decanters of wine and half drank cups. Gone were the paintings of women stood half naked in gardens. 

Instead the room she found was dim, warmed by the golden glow in the generous hearth. Trunks stood along one wall, yet unpacked but lids thrown open to reveal the collection of books within. The wall art had been replaced with intricate tapestries. Even the large four poster bed had been replaced. The new one had different posts and hangings and bed clothes.

“If you step right this way, your grace.” A plump, red cheeked woman beckoned her closer to the fireplace, to where she stood by a table and chairs.

Elizabeth crossed to her and the few attending ladies she had followed as quiet as a shadow.

First her hood was removed and her hair was released from the tightly wound bun. Then her jewelry and various ornaments were removed. It was only when they began working at the various lacings of her gown that Elizabeth began to appreciate the gravity of the day. Any moment now the stranger she had pledged herself to his morning would arrive to make her his wife in the most base sense.

She wanted to cling to her gown as they undressed her, to run from the room and pretend this had all never happened. Yes, of course, she had every reason to be happy. She had married the new king of England, she was Queen in her own kingdom, it was what she had been bred and reared for. But none of the facts seemed to counteract that she was married to a perfect stranger. A stranger more French or Breton than English or even the Welsh he was supposed to be.

Her mother and sister had told her what to expect on her wedding night, but stories and secondhand advice was seldom a talisman for nerves. There were still gaps in her understanding and fears in her mind. And besides that, she did not know her new husband’s character or what to expect of how he would treat her.

The gown had been unlaced and she stepped out of it to stand in her stockings and shift. The plump woman sprinkled some rose oil in the water in the basin on the table and took to sponging the water on Elizabeth’s skin. This, no doubt, was intended to make her smell clean and fresh, and thus endear her to her husband. Meanwhile, one of her attending ladies had begun combing out her fiery locks.

When they had done with their duties the ladies all curtsied and left. And so, for the first time today, or even in the days leading up to today, Elizabeth was alone, with only her thoughts for company. She found her floor length fur lined robe over the back of a chair and pulled it on over her shift. Then she was able to uncover a pair of slippers at the foot the bed beside a trunk bearing a heavy lock. 

What was it she was meant to do with herself? Was she meant to wait here by the fire? In the bed? With her shift on… or-or off? She blushed at the thought and quickly dispelled with it. Perhaps there was no protocol and she was simply meant to make herself comfortable, though such comfort was impossible given the impending duty. 

She thought she could settle in the chair by the fire, but it was only moments before she was back on her feet and pacing again. Outside the windows of his room, London slept under the diffused blue glow of the moon accompanied by a scattering of stars and a few thin clouds. Wind lifted the sails of the boats that roamed the Thames, a cold winter’s wind, Elizabeth knew. Below, on the lawn that led down to the palace’s dock, a number of guards stood sentinel, passing a flask between them, potentially to ward off the night’s biting edge of frost. From here Elizabeth could survey the London, the flagship city of England, her country.

There was the sound of footsteps in the hall and the twin oak doors to the chamber parted to admit a tall, lean figure, his face barely illuminated by the torches in the outer room. Henry walked most unlike her father, who charged from room to room with brazen confidence, rather he moved deliberately, with some authority but much thought. He thanked the men behind him and they halted in the hallway before the doors swung shut.

They were alone now.

Like her, the king wore only his shirt, breeches, slippers and a robe subtly embroidered with fire breathing dragons, claws bared and nostrils flared. Without his crown and fine clothes and jewels Henry looked a slight bit less intimidating. His tawny hair falling across her forehead and almost into his eyes seemed to make him more human to her, less of a political figure. Less of a bloodthirsty foreigner. 

Nearly lost in the sensation of seeing her king, her new husband, in an alien context, Elizabeth had quite forgotten to pay him the respect he deserved. She dipped a shallow curtsy and averted her eyes. “Your grace.” Her address came out as a whisper, caught in her dry mouth.

“Lovely Elizabeth.” He took her hand and kissed it, trying out her Christian name for the first time.

What would it be? Would he be kind to her, paying her small affections? Or would he make haste and cast her upon the bed? 

She felt almost rooted to the spot she stood in. Daring not the raise her eyes to his, lest he take offense at her impertinence, or else divine some bold sauciness from her gaze. Meekness had always served her well, why should tonight be any different?

There were footfalls and Elizabeth could perceive that he was walking around her, to the very window she had been gazing from when he had entered.

“I… I have another gift for you.” His voice was lightly accented with just a touch of the French pronunciation.

“Thank you, your grace, but,” She lifted her eyes and turned to face Henry, his back to her, “You have already bestowed many gifts on me. I cannot even begin to repay you.”

He turned only a fraction and held out his hand to her, “Come and see.”

See what? She prevaricated only a moment, brow creased with curiosity, before she took the proffered hand and joined him at the window, which he had opened. The icy cool air pricked her cheeks before she had the chance to look about. She cocked her head and chanced a look up at Henry, hoping to find where it was she was to be looking.

And then an impossibly loud crack, like a clap of thunder, rang in Elizabeth’s ears. Fearing that it was the first fruits of battle she tensed and instinctively grabbed at Henry’s hand.

“Peace, Elizabeth.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly, “Look.”

In the sky a light blossomed like a flower, spreading quickly and glittering like gold, before fizzling out.

“What was that?” It was hard to keep the fear and wonder from her voice.

“They call them fireworks.” He supplied the answer quickly.

There was a high pitched scream of the shell climbing through the air before another explosion set off over the city, blooming white light and sparkling purple.

“Where on earth did you find them?” 

“They are from far, far away, across mountains and seas and forests. From the other side of the earth.”

A loud explosion rocked the city and another shell went screaming through the sky to suddenly pop large and colorful over the city. Elizabeth could see the novelty reflected imperfectly in the water of the river below, rippling and distorted. Another exploded red and white, brilliant against the night sky. They stood watching for a while. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if it was the fireworks that had her heart racing or the way Henry was stood so close to her.

“Do you like them?” He asked, after a long while.

“Oh, yes, of course, your grace, thank you.”

“Good,” she felt his hand let go of hers and slide about her waist, drawing her to him, “because they are all for you.” The bright explosions continued to bloom against the deep blackness of the night as he pressed his lips to her hair.


End file.
